


The Scribe's Wedding Night

by ama



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Communication, Cultural Differences, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family, Father Figures, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Politics, Queer Themes, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 15:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17531516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: When the Mede Emperor dies, Costis is abruptly called back to Attolia, and Kamet goes with him. Returning to the Attolian court requires some adjustments--especially when they learn that, due to some ridiculous bureaucratic housing policies, they need to get married.Costis thinks it's a great idea. Kamet thinks the king has gone mad with power.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was largely born out of my love for ancient rituals and desire to write some of them in this universe. Some of details are drawn from real Ancient Greek or Persian wedding customs; a lot are totally made up. (Sort of technically takes place in the same verse as my previous fics "There and Back Again" and "Let The Night Wind Us Down" but can be read as a standalone.)

The day after Kamet and Costis returned to Attolia, Kamet slept late. At one point Costis nudged him awake, murmuring that he had to leave for a meeting with the king, but Kamet simply pushed him away with a stern grunt, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Their ship had come into harbor late the previous night, and they had been forced to wait several hours until the king and queen could leave the banquet they happened to be hosting, and _then_ they had sat up with the monarchs for another hour and a half so they could learn what was happening at the Attolian court in the wake of the Mede emperor’s recent death.

Kamet was tired, and he was a free man, and he slept in as long as he could. He knew that, all too soon, mornings like this would become a rare luxury.

He woke properly in the late morning and washed and dressed. When he was ready for the day and no summons came, he set about unpacking his and Costis’s bags. The message Costis had received only a few short days ago had been curt— _Emperor dead, other informants in place, return by most direct route, Kamet welcome to join you—_ and they had departed Roa hastily and left many things behind. Even so, he was surprised at the sheer number of possessions they had acquired in recent months.

One of the last things Kamet unpacked was a woven blanket, scarlet with a geometric pattern in maroon thread, and cream-colored fringe that always managed to get tangled, no matter how often he smoothed his fingers through it. Kamet smiled to himself as he combed through the fringe yet again. It wasn’t a large blanket—not large enough to cover the mattress—but on a cold, rainy winter day, it was the perfect size for two grown men to curl up together in front of their hearth. He arranged it carefully at the foot of the bed, a shabby counterpoint to the fine Attolian embroidery.

Around noon, an attendant knocked on the door and announced that Relius was in the hall, with lunch, if Kamet wished to see him.

“Yes, of course,” Kamet said. The attendant stepped aside and Relius entered, followed by a houseboy with a large tray. “Relius, so good to see you in person once again.”

Relius strode forward, returning the greeting warmly, and rested his hands on Kamet’s shoulders. He looked him up and down with his sharp eyes.

“Roa has agreed with you.”

“Yes—rather colder and wetter than I would prefer, but our house is several miles from the main city, and there is plenty of sunlight and fresh sea air. Although I suspect the food will be much better here,” he added as the boy set the platter down on a low table in the antechamber. “Thank you.”

The servant left and the two men sat. It was a light meal—a small carafe of wine, cheese with bread still hot from the oven, stuffed grape leaves, and a selection of grilled vegetables and meats. Kamet hadn’t eaten all day, and his stomach gurgled as Relius filled their cups. The former secretary of the archives politely ignored it.

“Is,” he said as he set the carafe down. Kamet had wasted no time in shoving a piece of bread in his mouth, and his only response was a vague humming sound. “Our house _is_ ,” Relius echoed. “So you intend to return to Roa?”

Kamet was slow in answering.

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” he admitted. “I spoke in the present tense out of habit only. Costis will be joining the Guard again, in light of the present circumstances, but afterwards… we haven’t discussed it. As for myself, there is still work I could do in the temple there.... I am not sure,” he repeated.

“We,” Relius said thoughtfully, sipping his wine. “Our.”

Kamet felt a faint blush touch his cheeks, but luckily his complexion was dark and warm enough that he didn’t think Relius would notice. He shrugged and helped himself to a grape leaf.

“I don’t recall your conversation involving so many one-syllable words the last time we spoke.”

“Forgive me. I was considering… to be frank, Kamet, I was surprised to hear that you returned to Attolia at all. You have made it quite clear that, wherever your allegiance may lie, your money is on the Mede. Figuratively speaking, of course. And yet…” He gestured eloquently with one hand. “So I am curious as to why you are here, and to what purpose, and for how long.”

“Are ‘why’ and ‘to what purpose’ not the same question?” Kamet hedged. He liked arguing finer points of grammar; it made him sound appropriately disinterested in the question.

“Not necessarily,” Relius obliged. “Colloquially, ‘to help Attolia win the war against the Medes’ may suffice for both questions, but that does not address all the points I wish to know. I mean, in particular, what do you intend to accomplish while you are here, and what motivated you to take such actions?”

Kamet did not answer right away. He drank from his wine cup and helped himself to more food. Relius did not push.

“As to your former question, I am at Their Majesties’ disposal,” Kamet answered finally. “Martial strategy is not one of my strengths, but I know the Mede generals as men, especially Nahaleed and Nahuseresh. If the information I provided last year was insufficient to Attolia’s needs, I will certainly supplement it. Or else I could lend my skills as a scribe or a secretary to the quartermaster or whatever minister is most in need of my assistance. Although, yes, I freely admit that I have never intended to stay in Attolia permanently and have no desire to be recaptured by Mede soldiers and sent to my former master to be tortured to death. I will not abandon my friends here at a whim, but I will not martyr myself, either, and the king knows this.”

Relius, who would martyr himself for Attolia in a heartbeat, inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“But…?” he prompted. Kamet raised his eyebrows, and Relius smiled. “But,” he repeated.

“But Costis is here,” Kamet sighed. “And I could no more convince him to abandon his friends, his family, and his king than I could convince _myself_ to remain halfway across the sea, reading dusty scrolls, not knowing whether he lived or died.” He drained his cup. “I am… very fond of him.”

“Mm.” The conversation lapsed for a moment as Relius spread cheese onto a slice of bread. “You were coy in your account.”

“I was scrupulously honest,” Kamet protested. “I simply ended it a few paragraphs early.” He was blushing harder, this time, and he knew from the look on Relius’s face that it showed.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just a nosy old man, still. I can’t bear to think of anyone having a secret I don’t know. It offends my sensibilities.”

“It’s not a secret, either,” Kamet said with a shrug. “I like to keep my privacy, when I can, but I believe Costis has been more candid with his own friends. You will notice the king and queen are well aware,” he added dryly, gesturing at the door to the bedchamber. He hadn’t bothered to close it all the way, and the single bed was visible.

“Yes, about that—” Relius said with a curious frown, but before he could finish his thought, there was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Kamet called over his shoulder, and as soon as the door opened Costis pushed past the attendant into the room.

“Sir—” he objected.

“It’s my room, too,” Costis said, rolling his eyes, and Relius coughed to hide his laughter.

“It’s all right,” Kamet said to the attendant, who bowed stiffly and shut the door behind him.

“Costis,” Relius said in a friendly voice. “It is good to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, secretary,” Costis said with a deferential nod. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“I’m not the secretary of anything any longer,” Relius demurred. “And you are interrupting nothing. Please, join us--as a matter of fact, we were just speaking of you.”

“Were you?” Costis asked absently. He pulled up a third chair and Kamet glared at Relius.

“Relius was curious about our plans in Attolia. I told him you were planning on defeating an entire Mede battalion with one hand, thus frightening the rest back to their ships. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I stopped by the Guard’s mess, and then the kitchens. Here.” He produced a small bundle from his belt, and untied a handkerchief to reveal two sticky, gleaming, slightly squashed honey cakes. He courteously set one before Relius, despite the man’s objections, and broke the remainder in half, handing one piece to Kamet.

“Gods bless you,” he praised.

Costis chuckled, and he was about to respond when his eyes fell on a small, decorative vase Kamet had placed on the desk in the antechamber. There was a green sprout in it, one of Costis’s most recent specimens. He frowned and glanced back at the bedchamber.

“You unpacked my things?” he asked in an undertone.

“Yes,” Kamet said. He was surprised; he didn’t think that garnered any reaction at all, let alone an unhappy one. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no,” Costis said hastily, and then he glanced at their guest. “We can speak of it later.”

“Ah,” Relius said. “Yes, I had also wondered.” He turned to address Kamet. “We were discussing these rooms,” he reminded him. “And I was about to remark that it was odd, because if Costis is returning to the King’s Guard, he will be subject to the Guard’s housing policies once again. All members of the Guard are required to live in their barracks; even Teleus’s rooms are located in that part of the palace. The only exception is men with children, who can petition the captain to live elsewhere in the capital. To my knowledge, no guard has ever had rooms in the inner palace.”

“Oh.” Kamet looked at Costis, who looked embarrassed to be having this conversation in front of the former spymaster but did not contradict him. He looked back at Relius. “But surely the king could make—”

“He won’t,” Costis interrupted. “He said as much, just now. And even if he had offered, I would have said no. The king pardoned me, promoted me beyond my merits, and sent me away twice on assignments most guards are never even considered for. Some of them already resent me, and I won’t give them an additional reason.”

“I suppose that is wise,” Kamet said, but he had a hard time concealing his disappointment.

Living together had been the best part of Roa—not the weather, not the sea, not the plantlife, not the scrolls in the temple or the company of other scholars or the kindness of their neighbors. It had been living together in their small, five-room house, watching it slowly fill with their possessions and change to reflect their taste, meeting together over meals even on days when their schedules were wildly out of sync.

He had known things would be different when they returned to Attolia. They would have less privacy, less control over their space, and their days would be two or three times as busy as they had been in Roa. At some point, Costis was going to march off with an army somewhere, and Kamet would stay here. But he thought they would have time.

“However…” Costis hesitated. “The king did point out an—er—alternate solution.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” The Attolian reached for an olive, doing his best to look nonchalant. “He thinks we should get married.”

Kamet’s first thought was that he must have mistranslated the Attolian words in his head, but Costis flashed him a surreptitious look and he knew he hadn’t. His next thought was that Eugenides had gone mad—either with power or on his own merits.

“He _what_?”

Relius coughed again.

“There are apartments for married members of the Guard, near the barracks,” Costis explained. “They have a private antechamber and a bedchamber, and each apartment shares a kitchen and dining room with three others. They’re quite nice,” he said weakly.

“And we would need to get _married_ to live in them?” Kamet pressed. “That’s ridiculous. I am not wearing a wig and peplos for the king’s amusement.”

“There is precedent,” Relius said with a smile, refilling his cup of wine. Kamet rounded on him.

“There is _not_.”

“There is. How much do you know of Attolian history, Kamet?”

“Enough.” Enough to know that even in Attolia, marriage was between a husband and wife, and that if they went along with the king’s joke, everyone would know who was who.

“Good. Then you know that, for centuries, armies in Attolia were loyal to the barons, not to the crown, and most soldiers were farmers and tradesmen by training. They served on short-term contracts or when war was declared, and when that came to pass, they were heavily reliant on the experience of veterans and the few full-time guards. It was very common for close partnerships to form between a man and his mentor, and these partnerships were sometimes romantic. I have been organizing Attolia’s archives, and I have come across more than one record of two men formalizing their relationship—it seems to have been more common among members of the King’s Guard, who were permanently stationed in a major city, far from family or sweethearts. The ceremonies were performed at the altar of Miras, but they were clearly inspired by the traditional Attolian marriage rites. I can send you a copy, if you like.”

“I didn’t know that,” Costis said thoughtfully before Kamet had a chance to respond.

“Weddings—if we may use that term—took place only occasionally, perhaps one every two or three years. And these partnerships began to decline in frequency once the queen restructured the army and the guard, even before Teleus banned them.”

“Teleus banned them?” Kamet echoed, distracted by his curiosity. Their only real interaction had been when Teleus arrested him, but he knew that both Costis and Relius held Teleus in high esteem.

“Things changed once the new system was put in place. In the old armies, the divisions between patronoi and okloi were more strict, and men were serving with their neighbors, broadly speaking. There was always an age and experience difference in the partnership, but they were from the same walks of life and had ties to the same communities. Under the new system, patronoi and okloi serve side-by-side, and that caused difficulties. People both inside and outside the Guard were outraged at the idea of a higher-ranked okloi taking a patronoi for a lover, and patronoi officers sometimes put undue pressure on their okloi inferiors. Not to mention that now men from every corner of the kingdom are thrown together, with no accountability towards families or local communities.” He waved his hand. “It was causing _more_ instability, not less, and so Teleus instituted a strict policy against fraternization between the ranks. But that is of no concern to the question at hand, because you, Kamet, are not a member of the Guard.”

“No, but…”

“Attolian weddings are a lot of fun,” Costis coaxed. “And the food would be even better than usual, given how much Brinna likes you. If the rooms aren’t worth it, we could always get divorced and be right back where we started—I promise I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

What could Kamet say against that? He threw his hands in the air.

“Fine—I bow to the demands of Attolian bureaucracy.”

“Exactly what every man wishes to hear after proposing marriage,” Costis laughed.

“Cheers,” Relius said, and he lifted his wine in a toast.

***

Relius stayed for only a little while longer. Kamet swore him to secrecy before he left, and the spymaster gave his solemn word.

“I would have spoken to you in private,” Costis said apologetically when they were alone. Kamet waved him off. “I didn’t know about the other weddings—that was interesting.”

“But you knew about the partnerships?”

“Oh yes, everyone knows that.”

“In Medea…” Kamet paused. In the Mede Empire, men only fucked their slaves, but he didn’t know how to say that and wasn’t sure he wanted to. “It is different,” he concluded. “Costis, this won’t be a massive event, will it?” he asked anxiously. “No—no inviting the entire palace, or serving stuffed peacocks with the feathers still attached, or—”

“No, of course not,” Costis said, shaking his head. “We only have a little savings, and everyone is sitting around waiting for a war to happen. I was thinking something small and quick—just us and our friends.”

“Good,” Kamet said, relieved, but before they could discuss it much further, a messenger arrived.

He told Kamet that he had been summoned to an audience with the king and queen. Costis began to repack his things, and Kamet took his writing supplies and followed the messenger to a council room.

This was not one of the audience chambers open to the public, but nor was it private; two ministers and a general were already seated around a large round table, and secretaries and attendants were clustered around the walls. Kamet tried not to fiddle with the strap of his bag as he approached the monarchs.

They were talking to each other in low voices as he approached—although he suspected, from the king’s tone and the queen’s expression, that the former was not taking the conversation as seriously as the latter would prefer—but when Kamet halted, the queen rested her hand on her husband’s arm and turned to look at him.

“Kamet, thank you for joining us.”

“It is no trouble at all, Your Majesty,” he said with a deferential bow. “How many I be of service?”

“I would like to add you as one of my personal advisors on international matters,” the queen said. “If you accept, I would like you to attend every meeting held on the Mede Empire or any of our other neighbors across the Middle Sea, either as my secretary or perhaps, in the future, as my representative.”

“I would be honored, Your Majesty,” Kamet responded with another bow, mentally groaning as he calculated how many meetings this would add to his calendar in the coming days. But it was not all bad, he thought hopefully. The queen had asked him to be an advisor, which was a much more interesting position than an ordinary secretary. And for her to even consider sending him as a representative, she must hold his capabilities in high esteem. The queen of Attolia was a formidable woman—to have her respect was a great compliment.

He was worried for what the king might say, but Eugenides was tracing the embroidery on his trousers with one finger and studiously ignoring Kamet. The queen indicated the people behind her, each of whom nodded as they were introduced.

“As I recall, you met some of my advisors previously, but no doubt the ministers claimed most of your time. This is Androcles, who advises me on the kingdom of Sounis, and Chrysanthe, on the kingdom of Eddis. Of course our ties to the other countries of the Little Peninsula are quite strong, and we rely also on our ambassadors from our sister kingdoms. Egil is my advisor on the Continental Powers. Your predecessor, Hesperos, has been recently loaned to the Minister of War. That should be enough for you to get started.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Kamet needed to pass behind the king’s chair to join the queen’s other advisors, but just as he was about to duck behind, the king reached up and tapped his shoulder.

“Oh, and Kamet?”

“Your Majesty?”

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

Kamet gave him a look that said _I would like to box your ears_ , and the king grinned so widely that he knew the message was received.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Congratulations?” the queen echoed, and the king raised an eyebrow at Kamet. He sighed.

“I am going to be married, Your Majesty.”

The queen looked surprised, and then she looked at the king, who was still grinning.

“Ah. Yes, congratulations.”

Kamet bowed again, silently this time, and melted against the wall. The other advisors greeted him in quiet voices. The advisor on the Continental Powers was also a foreigner—he had the blonde hair and light eyes of the Braels—but he wasn’t sure about the other two. They had Attolian accents, at least, even though the woman, Chrysanthe, had a slightly darker complexion than most Attolians.

“Welcome back,” she said with a smile. “I was in the crowd the first time you came to Attolia, you know.”

“Oh,” Kamet said, flustered at the obvious admiration in her statement, and he rummaged around in his bag for a wax tablet and a stylus.

“When is the wedding?” the Brael asked cheerfully.

“I—I’m not sure. It’s, um, quite a new development.” There were more people entering the room, ministers and barons by their expensive clothing, and he tried to look professional and very interested in their arrival. But the advisor on Sounis was not to be left out.

“Is your betrothed Attolian?”

“Yes.”

“What is her name?” he pressed. “Perhaps we know her.”

Kamet sighed.

“Costis,” he said, and the meeting began before the other advisors had recovered from their shocked silence.

***

After that, the news spread quickly. How could it not? The Guard knew, the secretaries knew, and the king had mentioned it in public. Of course everyone knew by the end of the next day. Kamet was summoned to the kitchens so Brinna could cuff his ears and the rest of the servants could hug him and clap him on the back. At least _their_ delight was genuine, Kamet thought, and although his skin was brick red down to his collarbone and up to his ears, his answering smile was likewise natural.

He was inundated with questions—when and where was the wedding to be, and how did they come to this decision anyway, and did he think the king and queen would come, and most importantly what kind of food did he want them to prepare because of _course_ the kitchens would prepare the meal, he wouldn’t go to a wineshop or the Guard’s mess for this, would he?—and he stumbled his way through until Tarra managed to grab him by the arms and swung him out of the crowd’s reach.

“You’ll have a henna night, won’t you, Kamet?” she said eagerly. She took hold of his hand and patted his knuckles. “I know the Setran patterns—they’re just like ours.”

Tarra had been born in Suninex, which was now Sheninesh. Her family had managed to slip out the moment Mede “allies” intervened to assist the king in the middle of a tax crisis, and immigrated to Attolia.

“Tarra, I’m _hardly_ Setran at all,” he reminded her in a gentle voice. Setra and Suninex bordered each other, and Tarra was always eager to bond with him over that fact. They had learned some of the same rhymes as children, and once she had made him a bowl of stew that he recognized immediately, instinctively, as one of his mother’s specialties. Other than that, he couldn’t remember much, but Tarra was never deterred, and she was especially tenacious today.

By the time he left the kitchen, he knew he had made several promises to several different people, but couldn’t remember what any of them were. Costis had moved back to the Guard’s barracks already, but a few days later Kamet met him and Aris in a wineshop in the city, and Costis admitted that he had been facing similar barrages.

“It’s your own fault,” Aris said cheerfully, digging into the rich stew the shop provided for diners. “What did you expect from a wedding?”

“It’s just a formality,” Kamet said with a frown. “I expected a ceremonial meal and a blessing from a priest of some sort, and now all this! We’re not aristocracy, we don’t have any family to get involved… I didn’t expect so many people to have _opinions._ What?” he asked as Aris shot a glance at Costis, who tugged at his ear and avoided eye contact.

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance—we haven’t had a moment alone all week.” He raised an eyebrow at Aris, who held up his hands to protest his innocence and gave all his attention to his dinner.

“What haven’t you told me?” Kamet demanded.

“Only that… if we wait about three more weeks, we could invite my family.” He looked up at Kamet with a sheepish grin.

“Your family?” he echoed stupidly. “But—the farm?”

“That’s why I said it would have to be in three weeks. They’re busy on the farm right now, but there should be a lull in two weeks, certainly by the week after. If we send a messenger in the next few days, that should give them plenty of time to prepare.” Costis shrugged and took a sip from his wine glass, doing his best to look casual. “I missed my sister’s wedding, and I think they’d like to be here for mine.”

 _To_ _me_ _?_ Kamet thought. _You’re so sure?_ The logical part of his mind reminded him that a man as kind, loyal, and fundamentally decent as Costis didn’t spring up from nowhere, but it was all too easy to imagine their disapproval. He was a foreigner. A small, dark, intellectual foreigner who could no more swing a hoe than a sword, who had lured their son and brother away from his homeland and press-ganged him into serving as a spy. What on earth would they think of him?

But there was no voicing these worries to Costis, so Kamet forced them down and smiled, and reached out to squeeze Costis’s hand.

“So, so, so. Of course you should send the invitation. I would be honored to meet them.”

The smile Costis gave him in return was so warm that it temporarily banished all doubt. He squeezed Kamet’s hand in return and lifted it to his lips, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his knuckles.

“That’s a date settled,” Aris said cheerfully. “And something of a guest list.” He started counting on his fingers. “Me, of course, father, sister, and brother-in-law. Teleus and Relius… I don’t suppose the king is coming?”

“Gods, no,” Costis shuddered. “That _would_ be too much. If the king came, half the court would want to come. The captain of the Guard has a private dining room,” he said to Kamet. “Teleus has offered use of it. It’s smaller than the mess, but still quite large—it can fit perhaps a hundred.”

“That many?” Kamet said, amazed. “We said we wanted something small.”

“That _is_ small for a wedding,” Aris grinned.

“I don’t even know if we could come up with a hundred guests...”

“Just you wait.”

***

And indeed, over the next few weeks Kamet’s idea of a small, simple trip to a temple with a meal afterwards ballooned into something much more complicated. Aris and Costis walked him through the basics of an Attolian wedding ceremony, and Relius, as promised, sent him archival documents concerning weddings between men. Brinna sent him several menus to consider, and Tarra tacked on notes about her progress in planning a henna night. A surprising number of people tried to add their names to the guest list. Kamet was suspicious of some of them. His years of managing Nahuseresh’s affairs came in handy; he politely but coolly dismissed those who were only trying to cozy up to the queen’s advisor, and a handful whom he suspected of laughing at him.

Others were genuine, and Kamet was kinder in his rejections. A few he did invite—not only his friends in the kitchen, but Chrysanthe, Androcles, Egil, and Hesperos, and one or two of the queen’s secretaries whom he knew the best. It was still a modest number, especially compared to the list of Costis’s friends and admirers in the Guard.

Even without the wedding planning, his days were very full. He attended meetings with the queen, and his admiration of her grew quickly—it was one thing to _know_ that the queen was a remarkable woman, and quite another to observe her as she shrewdly navigated the complexities of Attolia's uncertain situation. The first time Kamet had seen her, the queen had been playing coy for Nahuseresh’s sake, but there was none of that now, and her authority among her people was unmistakable.

At least once a day, the queen dismissed all external counsel and spoke with Kamet, the three other foreign advisors, and her two domestic advisors. Sometimes Relius or the Baron Hippias attended these private meetings as well. As Kamet became more familiar with the Attolian court, he was sent to talk to barons, ministers, and higher-level officials himself. He spent several hours in the armory with Teleus once, doing his best to recall every type of every weapon he had ever seen or heard of in the entirety of the Mede Empire. He apologized for his comparative lack of knowledge, but Teleus, like all the officials he met, was unfailingly polite and insisted that Kamet had helped.

The days dragged on, and the tension in the palace increased. Everyone knew war was coming, and that once it arrived, every second was precious. It was difficult to admit that there was a limit to the preparations that could be made ahead of time. Kamet found himself giving the same information over and over again to people who already knew it, but the repetitive conversations gave the illusion of safety.

And even so, he could not walk down a corridor without being stopped, congratulated, and asked about the wedding. The only people who said nothing were the king and queen--although the former had a devilish twinkle in his eye every time Kamet looked. He did not see Costis very often during the day, unless the king and queen attended the same meetings, and even then they couldn’t speak. They tried to have dinner together twice a week. Kamet missed him very much.

Each day the well-wishers irritated him more, his anxiety became more pressing, and his temper shortened. He wasn’t sure what weighed on him more heavily: the wedding, or the impending war.

***

A week before the wedding, one of the king’s attendants approached the queen after a council meeting and informed her that the king requested an audience with one of her advisors, if she would be so kind as to spare him.

“Of course. Kamet, the king wishes to see you. When you have finished with him, you are excused for the day.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The attendant led him to the king’s private chambers, where Eugenides was at the desk, writing a note. He looked up at Kamet’s entrance.

“Ah, good, you’re here.” He folded the note and handed it to the attendant. “Make sure that gets delivered.”

The attendant bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. There were two armchairs in the room, and the king sat down in one, crossed one leg over the other, and looked at Kamet expectantly. Kamet was a very patient man, and he waited for more than a minute before prodding, “Your Majesty called for me?”

“Oh yes.” The king propped his chin in his hand. “I thought you might like to yell at me, and this time works best for my schedule. Have at it, then.”

An insincere, placating smile affixed itself to Kamet’s face immediately.

“I don’t think so, Your Majesty.”

“No?” The king lifted one eyebrow. “I was quite sure you were angry with me.”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Very well.”

Eugenides sighed and waved a hand in dismissal. Kamet turned around and was halfway to the door when he gathered his nerves and turned around again.

“I am merely disappointed,” he said, “in Your Majesty’s lack of creativity.”

“Now that is shocking,” Eugenides said gravely. “Because I have always prided myself on my creativity. Please, sit.”

He indicated a brocade bench nearby, and Kamet sat, straight-backed, vibrating with indignation. He was proud, though, of the steadiness in his voice. The king may have needled him into having a conversation he would have rather avoided, but he didn’t want to appear a fool.

“No doubt you are aware that I maintain a friendly correspondence with the magus of Sounis.”

“Yes.”

“He has done much to bring me up to speed on the recent politics of this peninsula. For example, he told me that there was an understanding between the king of Sounis and the queen of Eddis for a number of years, which was well known among their friends. He told me that, when the king of Sounis wanted to get married, it was you who informed him that his wife must be subject to the rule of the Attolian crown. It was you who ensured that the queen of Eddis gave up her sovereignty.”

“My cousin who is Eddis did not relinquish her sovereignty in order to marry,” Eugenides corrected calmly. “She is too good a queen to sacrifice her people’s happiness for her own, or to bow to my whims simply because I am her favorite cousin. She bowed to her own judgement, and to the warning of the gods.”

Kamet nodded in acceptance of this. He didn’t believe that the king was telling the whole truth, but he wasn’t here to talk about the queen of Eddis.

“Costis hasn’t realized,” he said quietly. “He still thinks of himself as an ordinary member of the Guard and therefore beneath public notice, but he is more than that. He is your vassal. He is sworn to you--to your throne, to your god. And I am not.”

Eugenides nodded. The Thief of Eddis could be patient, too, when he wanted to be, and a minute, then two, then three passed in silence. Kamet’s heart began to pound.

“You said—” His voice sounded like gravel crunched beneath a boot, and he cleared his throat. “You said that you had had no right to steal my future from me, and that you owed me, not the other way around. You said you would not force me to serve Attolia.”

The king smiled sadly.

“I did. And I meant it, and I have since changed my mind. If you would like to tell Costis about my devious plot to force your hand, I am sure he will understand and call off the wedding with grace. He might even punch me again, which would be a very amusing diversion for all of us in these grim times. But if that happened… I’m sorry, Kamet, but I would have to send you away.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “As well-liked as you are, I can’t have a former subject of the Mede Empire living in the palace and advising the crown when we are at war with them. Not until his loyalty is assured.”

“A slave is not a _subject_ of the Mede Empire,” Kamet corrected. “He is the _property_ of his master, and property has no loyalty to give.”

“That may be so, but your legally nonexistent loyalty once led you to set an Attolian fortress on fire and liberate a prisoner who was in the queen’s custody, and that has not been entirely forgotten. It would not be permanent,” he added. “And you would go somewhere comfortable and safe. Probably a hunting lodge in Eddis.”

“Would you send Costis with me?” Kamet asked, surprised by the bitter twist to his own voice. “A gift, like a comfortable house in Eddis, or Roa, like some old scrolls in a temple, like… a coin to ease the way. A gift from the benevolent king, to turn exile into a vacation and an order into a request?”

“I _am_ a benevolent king,” Eugenides said coolly. “Which is funny, because as a Thief I was always rather petty. But unlike the Emperor of the Medes, I don’t make gifts out of people. If Costis wished to go, he would have to petition for a separation or transfer, like any other guard.”

The king stood abruptly and walked in a circuit around the room, pausing to look out the window. Kamet took a deep breath to compose himself.

“I think it is cruel,” he said. His voice was quiet, restrained, but it trembled.

“For gods’ _sakes_ , Kamet!” the king burst out impatiently. “I am trying to prepare for a _war._ I apologize for valuing my subjects’ lives more highly than your romantic inclinations, but Eddis is not especially far away and you are both literate, so I rather think you will survive!”

“Not that,” Kamet corrected. “I mean that Costis is genuinely excited for this sham wedding now, and I think it was cruel of you to dangle it in front of his face because of some scheme. It is a palace joke, and he has no idea. He would die for you in an instant and you are toying with him.”

His hands were shaking, too, and he tightened them into fists. Eugenides stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. If he were an ordinary man, Kamet would say that the king looked absolutely bewildered, but he did not trust his instincts. Not around kings, emperors, princes. Not around masters.

Eugenides stood behind the armchair and gripped the back with his one hand, leaning forward with his eyes intent on Kamet’s face.

“Kamet, _my_ wedding was a joke,” he said bluntly. “I can count on one hand the number of people in attendance who thought it would lead to a happy marriage, which is good because my bride _chopped the other one off_. I spent the entire day parading between more temples and ballrooms than anyone has a use for, listening to meaningless speeches cluttered with formulaic nonsense, and smiling at people as they lied about how much they liked me. Afterwards, an unsuccessful rival wrote a song about my wedding night implying that I had suffered another, rather more painful amputation. It is impossible to overstate the extent to which my wedding was a farce.”

Kamet could not have been more shocked if the king had slapped him. He hadn’t considered this. He knew that the Attolians had felt contempt for the Thief of Eddis, and in years past he, too, had snickered at the thought of Eugenides sucked into the mire of the Attolian court. But that was before he and the king became friends, and before he knew how much the king and queen loved each other. He hadn’t thought about it since.

Pity rose in his breast, followed quickly by a blush of shame.

“And at day’s end, everyone left. Undoubtedly they kept laughing, but I didn’t hear them because I was alone in a room with my wife.” The king’s gaze dropped to the floor and he considered this for a moment. His face softened, and then he sat back in his chair with a sigh. “This was never about tricking you out of your allegiance, Kamet—I had other plans for that. It simply occurred to me that a wedding might be something that would bring both of you joy, and that you were unlikely to think of yourself. I know I have asked a lot of you, and I am going to ask for much more.”

“Your Majesty…”

“If you would rather not marry Costis because you don’t want to be an Attolian subject, or because you really prefer your current quarters to his, or because he snores or because you think he will age poorly, then by all means don’t marry him,” Eugenides interrupted. “But as a friend I have the highest regard for your courage and moral fiber and would be _profoundly_ disappointed to learn that you chose not to marry him due to something as trivial as a slightly unflattering nickname.”

Kamet considered this, and Eugenides stared back at him with a placid expression, like a soft-eyed, innocent cow.

“You are an ass,” Kamet concluded.

“Yes,” the king cheerfully agreed. “And if you have nothing more to berate me for, take the rest of the day off.”

“The queen has already given me the day off,” Kamet said spitefully, and the king grinned.

“You see, that is one of the benefits of marriage—total and complete harmony. My wife and I agree on _everything_.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Kamet stood and bowed, and left the room as quickly as was proper. He was forced to admit that he had been badly beaten in that exchange, and his head was whirling as he walked through the corridors. As always, a few passersby tried to engage him in conversation, but he brushed them all off automatically, relying on the murmured pleasantries all Mede slaves knew by heart.

 _I should speak to Costis_ , he thought finally, after several minutes roaming the halls. He wasn’t sure where Costis was—it was his rest day, so he might be anywhere—but he directed his steps toward his own room, so he could deposit his things. He would go down to the Guard’s barracks and ask around. If his fame had one advantage, it was that almost all the guards knew him by name, and would be more than willing to point him in Costis’s direction as long as they could tease him a little bit first.

Now that Kamet was a lowly advisor, rather than a guest, there was no attendant waiting by his rooms, and he jumped when he opened the door to find someone standing in the middle of the antechamber. And then he jumped again, this time launching himself into Costis’s arms.

“Costis!”

“Hello,” the Attolian laughed. He caught Kamet and swung him around before swooping down for a kiss that sent shivers up his spine.

“I was just going to find you.”

“Beat you,” Costis grinned. “The king sent a message, half an hour ago, saying you wanted to speak to me. I’ve been waiting.”

Of course he had.

“Well, I’m here now,” Kamet said, giving him a peck on the lips. “I’m free for the rest of the day.”

“As am I.”

They were going to talk. But Costis bent down to kiss him a third time, and then Kamet wasn’t thinking and pulled him down for a fourth, and then Costis’s eyes flickered towards the bedroom door and back to Kamet’s face, glittering with mischief. Without a word they rushed towards the bedchamber. They were both laughing breathlessly when they hit the mattress, clutching each other close, and what with one thing and another, they didn’t speak for quite some time.

***

There was only one window in Kamet’s chambers. It faced full west, and the light in the late afternoon was glorious—bright and strong, not yet golden but with enough warmth to make him stretch against the sheets (and Costis’s side) like a satisfied cat. There was a particular pleasure, he decided, in lying in naked in one’s bed with a lover in the middle of the afternoon. He wasn’t sure if it was _better_ than at nights or in the morning, but it certainly felt more luxurious.

He rested his head on Costis’s chest and tried to look at him surreptitiously. It didn’t work, because Costis was looking straight at him, with fondness in his eyes and an easy smile on his lips. It was such a painfully earnest expression that Kamet forwent any attempt at subtlety and blurted out his real question.

“Why do you want to get married?”

“For the marital quarters, so we can have moments like this whenever we like,” Costis replied promptly. He kissed Kamet’s forehead, and Kamet was almost willing to let it go.

“But that’s not all,” he pressed. “All of this—pomp. You genuinely enjoy it. You want a wedding for a wedding’s sake.”

“You almost sound like you don’t want to do it.”

“No, of course I—that is—”

He was confused by the grin spreading across Costis’s face, and fell silent.

“Ha,” he said, sitting up and reclining against the headboard with an air of satisfaction. “I was beginning to think you’d never admit it. I was sure we’d show up at the Temple of Erate and then you’d turn around and sprint towards the nearest boat.”

“You _knew_?” Kamet spluttered. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“Kamet, it’s impossible to get you to say anything you don’t want to, even if it’s obvious. You’re as stubborn as a mule. You wore broken sandals for a _week_ because I had told you that you should have bought boots instead.”

“That was very uncomfortable,” Kamet said stiffly. “If you had realized they were broken, you should have said something, and I wouldn’t have had to suffer.”

“I was waiting for you to admit they had broken, which you did not. You finally bought a pair of boots, kept them behind the chicken coop, and changed into them every morning when you thought I wasn’t looking. I’m an idiot, but I’m not _stupid_. Would you really have gone through with a wedding you didn’t want out of stubbornness?”

Kamet climbed out of bed and drew his robe around itself. It was a very nice robe, emerald silk with a jade border, but he yanked too hard on the tie, threw himself into a chair, and crossed his arms. It was a very nice chair, too.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, you dumb ox.”

“Kamet, we’ve talked about this,” Costis sighed. “If you think something is going to upset me, _ask me._ I am not going to flog you for it.”

“That’s not what I was worried about,” Kamet snapped. “I wasn’t afraid to tell you, I just—is it so wrong of me to want you to be happy?”

“If you assume that my happiness comes at the expense of yours, then yes, it is. Why don’t you want to get married?”

Kamet ran his hands up and down the arm of his chair. He wished it were cheaper, so there were loose threads he could pick at.

All he had to do was tell Costis that the king was using this wedding to compel his loyalty, and it would be over. Costis would profusely apologize on behalf of his king and release Kamet from his promise with no hard feelings. But the words wouldn’t come. It didn’t seem _fair_ to pretend that this was all Eugenides’s fault. It was the easy way out, certainly, but it was not the whole truth. Kamet sighed.

“Costis,” he said in a pained voice. “Do you know that people are laughing at us?”

Costis’s eyebrows raised.

“Are they?”

“Yes. I can hardly go a day without someone commenting on what a _new_ idea this is, how it’s so _interesting_ and quite exotic, but _charming_ , really. It’s all anyone wants to talk about, and they’re smirking all the time. And do you know what some of them are calling us now? Kingnamer and Kingpuncher. That’s not _funny_ ,” he said stiffly as Costis lifted a hand to cover his smile.

“Yes, it is. And the joke is on me, not you. Kamet, you’re one of the most well-liked people in court.”

“I am not,” Kamet frowned.

“You are. You were the first person to call the king annux, a word the rest of us were dancing around for more than two years because we wanted it to be true too desperately. You handed us the Mede navy on a platter, and your information has been the basis for almost half our defensive strategy. You are not bound to any one baron, so no one has to worry about associating with you, and you know how to talk to everyone from the Minister of War down to the sandal-polishers. Also, you are _very_ handsome and have a pleasant voice and you always smell good.”

Kamet couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face, but he put one foot on the bed and kicked Costis in the calf.

“I think _that_ has very little to do with it.”

“Perhaps. But the other guards are always teasing me that I’m not good enough for you, you know. They like that you talk to them like equals, but they like it when you get high and mighty around an ass like Enkelis, too. And calling us Kingnamer and Kingpuncher—it’s only funny if our loyalty to the king is unquestioned.” He got up and adjusted so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, red blanket draped modestly over his lap, and leaned closer. “People are happy for us.”

“But not all of them,” Kamet pressed. Costis frowned.

“No, not all of them.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Not as much as it bothers you,” he said shrewdly, “because you remember how they treated you when you first came to Attolia. You still feel that you need to earn people’s respect, and you worry about doing things that will lose it.” Costis hesitated. “It _does_ bother me,” he admitted. “People have said things that…” He shook his head. “No, best not repeated. My point is that I learned a long time ago that the court’s approval had nothing to do with how I should feel about myself. I have been praised for the worst of my actions and shunned for the best of them. There are a few people in court whom I respect and admire, and _they_ are all happy for us, and that’s all that matters to me. The rest are not worth thinking about.”

Kamet wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He reached out and cupped Costis’s cheek in his face, brushing his thumb back and forth.

“The king said much the same,” he admitted. He dropped his hand and sighed. “That is another thing. I’m not thrilled about getting married just because the king suggested it. It’s not good for him to get his own way so often.”

He was circling the issue of citizenship, and he was about to continue when Costis’s face went red and he glanced down at the floor.

“Costis?”

“Marriage was… not the king’s idea,” he said haltingly. “It was mine.”

Kamet blinked.

“But—but you said—”

“We thought—the king thought—that it would be easier, if people believed the suggestion came from him. We thought that perhaps some people would complain of heresy or—or whatever it is people complain about. If the idea came from the king, especially a foreign king with his foreign gods and odd customs, people wouldn’t complain as much. I didn’t mean to lie to you,” he added hastily. “But Relius was here when we first spoke of it, and… the distinction didn’t seem important enough to raise later. Is the distinction important?”

Eugenides hadn’t said anything about this, Kamet thought with a frown. The king had led him to believe it was his idea all along.

“Perhaps,” he hedged. “So, what… how did it...?”

“We were discussing my return to the Guard, and about how I would have to move back to the Guard’s quarters. He said you probably wouldn’t mind joining me in a marital apartment, and that Teleus would waive the marriage requirement. I wasn’t thinking—I said that was a shame.” He shrugged. “The king looked at me for a moment, and then he suggested I ask you. If anyone made a fuss, he would handle it. He said, with things the way they are now, people might like a wedding.”

Kamet was quiet for a minute, staring at him. There was a lump in his throat, and he swallowed.

“Costis… why do you want to marry me?” he asked wearily.

“Because I love you,” Costis said with no hesitation. “And because it seems as though everyone is constantly trying to tear you away from your life. First raiders took you from Setra, then the king and I took you from Medea, and then me again, taking you from Roa. The least I can do is give you a life in return, and that is what a wedding does. My gods, my family, my friends, my home and everything in it. If you want it, all of it is yours.”

For a long time, Kamet didn’t speak. It hit him, very suddenly, what they were talking about. Ever since he had left the Mede palace, Kamet had been thinking in the short term. He made plans for a day, a week, a month—just until he could get away from the Attolian, until this voyage had ended, until he finished his work at the temple, until the war came.

This was not what Costis was offering. He was offering a lifetime. And he was so _sure_ about it. He loved Kamet, believed he would continue to love him, and trusted that the world wasn’t going to collapse around them.

Kamet was not so sure, but he took Costis’s face in his hands and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, as insubstantial as sea foam, and he lingered for several long moments.

“You are more dear to me than words can express,” he said simply. He drew back. “And I think we should officially declare that it is the gods, not you, who bear the largest portion of guilt in uprooting my life so often.”

“Very well,” Costis smiled.

“And I thank them every day.” Kamet brushed his thumb over Costis’s cheek again, and then stood and fetched a jug of watered wine from one of the cabinets. “The king and queen are scheduled to have a public audience tomorrow, aren’t they?” he asked as he poured himself a cup.

“Yes, after breakfast, until noon.”

“And you will be there?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Kamet drained half the cup in one gulp. His throat was still dry, so he topped it off again and returned to sit by the headboard. “Then I will go too, and petition Their Majesties for Attolian citizenship.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Costis frowned.

_Yes, I do._

“You said it yourself. In a week, I’m going to have an Attolian husband, Attolian family, a permanent home in Attolia, the patronage of Attolian gods. For the last few weeks… the last few months… I have completely devoted myself to the furthering of Attolian interests. It would be foolish to deny it any longer.” He took a deep breath. “For better or for worse, this is where I belong.”

***

The next morning, the king and queen and a good portion of the court crowded into a small audience room—the very room where Kamet had come before Eugenides as king for the first time. Most petitioners had already been approved by the crown’s schedulers in advance, but Kamet arrived early so he could add his name to the list. He knew it would be hours before he was called, and he spent the time hovering at the edge of the room, trying to calm the frantic pace of his heart, and straining to see Costis behind the dais. Luckily, it was much better lit than it had been previously, and Costis was the tallest of the guards standing around the king. He couldn’t make out Costis’s smile, but he could imagine it well enough.

“Kamet e dai Annux.”

There were whispers as Kamet stepped into the clear space before the king and queen. He was the queen’s personal advisor, and certainly had the opportunity to speak with her in private if he wished; there were only a few reasons he would approach her in front of the entire court. Kamet glanced at Costis—he was close enough now to see the other man’s encouraging smile—and then at the king. The very corner of his mouth lifted, but he doubted anyone else would notice.

“If it pleases Your Majesties…” His voice sounded raspy, and he cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “For much of my life I was a slave, homeless and stateless. I am a freedman now, and if Your Majesties will accept my allegiance, I wish to become a subject of Attolia.”

The whispers became murmurs, a rumble that swept the whole room, but Kamet tried to ignore them. He kept his eyes fixed on the throne.

“A generous offer—I am inclined to accept. What do you think, my dear?” Eugenides asked the queen casually, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him until that very moment. The queen nodded and folded her hands in her lap.

“I agree. We have been grateful for your aid and your friendship, Kamet, and will gladly accept your allegiance. Crotus, you will make the record?” she asked, looking back at the scribe who sat unobtrusively behind her.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, smiling at Kamet.

Kamet took a deep breath and approached the dais on which the thrones rested, and knelt. It was usually considered poor form to invade the monarchs’ personal space, but he needed to be in arm’s reach for this. Besides, the last time he had been in this room, he had stormed forward until he was practically in the king’s lap. This was an improvement, in terms of etiquette.

“State your name,” Eugenides commanded. This was a proscribed ritual—very simple, for okloi—and Kamet knew his part.

“Kamet Kingnamer,” he said, ignoring the smirk this evoked from said king. “Formerly I was called Kamet of Nahuseresh.”

“Do you renounce all oaths of loyalty you have sworn to other kings?”

“To my knowledge, Your Majesty, I have sworn no such oaths. But if so, yes, I renounce them.”

“Will you swear your loyalty to Attolis?”

“I will.”

“Will you serve its interests in peace and in war, obey its laws, pay your just tax, and perform what duties are demanded of you by the crown?”

“I will.”

That should have been the end. Eugenides leaned forward. His ink-black eyes were ancient in his young face. His voice dropped in pitch, and although many probably guessed what he asked, Kamet didn’t think anyone but himself and perhaps the queen actually heard them.

“Will you serve me and my god?” he asked. The words were as regal and formulaic as anything else he had said, but there was a gentleness in his voice that had not been there before. It was Eugenides asking, not Attolis, and Kamet was free to decline.

Kamet bowed his head.

“I will, My King.”

Eugenides held out his left hand and Kamet kissed it. He was surprised when Eugenides leaned forward to kiss him on the brow—that particular gesture, he thought, was reserved for nobility.

“Rise, Kamet Kingnamer, under the protection of and in service to the kingdom of Attolia. May you be blessed in all your endeavors.”

“Thank you, My King.” Kamet stood. He placed a hand over his heart and delivered a more modest bow, first to Eugenides and then to the queen. “My Queen.”

The queen bestowed a gracious smile, and Kamet melted back into the crowd. People reached out to grasp his hand or whisper a word of congratulations in his ear, and he responded without hearing them. It was done. In a few short days, he was going to be married. And soon—hopefully after the wedding rather than before—war would come to Attolia. He had just given up his last shred of neutrality, the only hope he had that if Attolia lost, he would not be lost with it.

Kamet understood, now, why the Attolians believed in their young, clever, headstrong king so fiercely. They _needed_ to. If they had no faith, they had nothing. He watched Eugenides carefully as the next petitioners stepped forward, and prayed that they were right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a looooot of research into henna practices for this chapter (like, definitely more than necessary), but I wanted to highlight Noam Sienna's research. His [ post on pre-medieval henna patterns](http://eshkolhakofer.blogspot.com/2015/01/period-henna-resource-guide-for-henna.html), in particular, was the inspiration some of the designs described in this chapter. The fourth Persian style, the one seen in the "Sindukht Learns of Rudaba's Actions" miniature, is more or less the basis for what I gave Kamet.

Kamet sat in the dining room of an inn, wearing his second-finest clothes, and thought with longing of the days when his greatest fear was that a lioness was going to eat him in his sleep.

The Ormentiedes family did not _look_ nearly as frightening—only Costis and his father were armed, and the latter with something that looked suspiciously like a pruning knife rather than a weapon made for combat—and he was more inclined to believe Costis’s assurance of safety on this occasion than on the previous one. Yet even so, Kamet was almost paralyzed with terror. He found himself trying desperately to reach for some of the confidence he had once had, when he had wielded authority over hundreds of slaves and servants without batting an eye. It was so much easier, he thought, when one didn’t really care about being liked.

He wanted Costis’s family to like him. With every minute that passed, he wanted them to like him _more_ , because the respect and affection that flowed between them was so obvious. Costis’s father was a large man, as tall and broad as his son, but Kamet was most struck by his sagacity—he spoke slowly and quietly, in a voice like an avalanche, and at the sound of his voice Costis always straightened, just a little bit. He was unfailingly deferential, addressing his father as “sir” and allowing him to lead the conversation, but Kamet did not think the older man was haughty enough to demand such respect. He had simply earned it.

Thalia was Costis’s sister, two years younger than him and, Kamet suspected, more outgoing than either her father or her brother. When they were introduced, she greeted Kamet with a kiss on the cheek, and she spent as much time observing their surroundings as she did observing him. Her honey-brown eyes sparkled with interest as she looked around the room, studying the broad cross-section of the city that could be found there. Every once in a while she leaned over to whisper something to her husband. His name was Achaeus, and he was smaller than Costis or his father—not a farmer, not a soldier, but a steward on the family farm. He was interested in politics, Costis had mentioned, the kind of abstract interest that one cultivated when he had no intention of actually meeting a statesmen in one’s life. Kamet was certainly willing to talk politics if that was all it took to get his presumptive brother-in-law on his side.

But he had no opportunity. After the first round of introductions, conversation focused on the travelers’ journey and how they had left the farm and its inhabitants. Kamet listened attentively but had nothing to offer. In the back of his mind he crafted the perfect conversation opener, and was forced to abandon it when their food arrived. There was a ritual to Attolian meals, and the younger generation kept a respectful silence as their father filled his wine cup, passed the jug around the table, and carved the whole roast chicken that the barmaid had deposited on the table, along with a pot of barley stew and a still-steaming loaf of bread.

It was a comfortable silence, to those who had known each other for decades. To Kamet, it was torture. His foot tapped on the floor as if he were a jittery racehorse, and Costis rested a hand on his knee.

“So, Kamet,” the elder Ormentiedes said finally, when they had all filled their plates. “Costis has told us you are from Setra?”

“Yes.” Kamet paused and added, “It is a small country in the eastern part of the Mede Empire, in the foothills of the Ushkan mountains. South of Suninex.”

Was it patronizing to explain, he wondered? Or worse to presume they already knew? Good maps were expensive, and he didn’t think they would be common in the Attolian countryside, especially maps of Mede, but he had been wrong before. The older man’s craggy, sun-worn face did not reveal his thoughts, but he nodded.

“Do you still have family there?”

“No, I…” Unexpectedly, his voice failed him. He cleared his throat and took a sip of wine. “My whole family was taken by slavers at the same time. I’m not sure where they ended up.”

“Your whole family?” Thalia echoed, in that curious combination of pity and outrage that so many of these people on the Little Peninsula felt. Attolia had slaves, too, he always wanted to point out. But not many, and very, very few who had been stolen from their mother’s arms as children.

“Yes. Myself, my mother, my two brothers and my sister.”

“And your father?”

“I’m not sure,” Kamet admitted. “I don’t remember much of him.”

His few memories of his father were unpleasant ones—lots of shouting, mostly, and the smash of crockery. He wasn’t sure if his father had died by the time the raiders came, or if he had simply left.

Kamet’s gaze dropped to his plate, and he very carefully began to cut his portion of the chicken into bite-sized pieces. He devoted his full attention to the task.

Weddings were supposed to be about families, but Kamet hadn’t thought of his once in the last few weeks. He had gotten so used to thinking of himself as an orphan, an only child—it was true, even if it wasn’t.

He wondered if his mother was still alive. If any of his siblings were still alive. His youngest brother was only just weaned, the other hardly a year older. Kamet couldn’t picture them doing hard labor, but of course that meant nothing. They weren’t babies to the Mede. They were slaves. None of them would know how to read or write, and he couldn’t remember if his mother or sister had any particular skills that might save them from the fields or the mines. He hoped, suddenly, that his sister hadn’t grown up to be pretty.

He had finished cutting his chicken. He pushed at it feebly with his fork.

“But you must have _some_ family in the procession,” Costis’s father urged. “Family approval is an important part of the ceremony. Perhaps Thalia and Achaeus should join you and I should stay with Costis.”

“Thank you, but no,” Kamet said, glancing up with a smile. It wasn’t an easy smile, but he was touched by the man’s kindness, and he hoped it showed. “Relius will be there, and the servants of the kitchens have claimed me as one of their own.”

“Relius?” Achaeus repeated. “The spymaster?”

“He works mostly in the palace archives, these days,” Costis said. “He and Kamet talk history and argue politics,” he teased, nudging Kamet with his elbow. “Speaking of which, Kamet is an Attolian now. He swore to the king and queen just this week.”

Costis’s sister and brother-in-law immediately congratulated him politely, but his father took a sip from his wine cup and surveyed Kamet over the rim.

“You seem conflicted about it,” he observed in his deep, quiet voice, and Kamet sat up straighter.

“No, not at all,” he said. “I—I simply do not have an optimistic nature. I worry for the future of Attolia. That is all.”

“As do we,” the older man nodded. “But we do what we can, and we leave it in the hands of the gods.”

This proclamation was met with solemn respect, and silence fell again. Kamet managed to take a bite of his food. It was dry, and he took a sip from his wine cup—and choked on it. He put his cup down and smacked Costis in the arm. When the Attolian looked at him with concern, Kamet was still coughing violently, and he could do nothing except point at the figure that was approaching them through the crowded dining hall. Costis jumped up and there was a dull screech as the bench they were sitting on was dislodged from its place.

“Your—!”

“Shut up, Costis,” the king said, and the guard’s mouth snapped closed. Eugenides sat down next to Kamet, shaking off his hood. It was a rainy evening and he was wearing a hat underneath the cloak, which was the only possible explanation for how he had gone unrecognized thus far. He casually snatched a piece of bread from Kamet’s plate.

“Where are your—?” Costis demanded, scanning the room for a hint of the king’s attendants or lieutenants, or the two members of the City Guard who were supposed to supplement the king’s squads whenever he left the palace complex.

“Shut up, Costis,” the king repeated cheerfully, now helping himself to some of Kamet’s mostly-untouched, bite-size chicken. “And sit down, will you? I’ve only got about ten minutes and it will be less if you keep drawing attention to yourself. If you get me caught, I’m going to tell Teleus it was all your idea.”

“Teleus wouldn’t believe you,” Costis said with a frown, although he did lower himself into his seat again.

“No, but I’ll tell him in front of witnesses, and he won’t call me a liar in public no matter how true it is. And wouldn’t it be embarrassing to be restricted to bread and water on your wedding day?” The king then turned to the rest of the Ormentiedes family and smiled. “Welcome to Attolia. The city, of course, not the country. You’ve been here longer than I have.”

“Yes… Your Majesty,” Costis’s father said, dropping his voice to avoid catching the ear of their neighbors. “It is a great honor to meet you here.”

The king waved off the great honor—he was wearing gloves and a false hand tonight.

“I am always eager to meet natives of the Gede Valley. It seems to produce so many odd and interesting people. For example, in the past three years only four people have actually _fought_ with me. One was my wife, which is perhaps to be expected, one was His Majesty the King of Sounis, and the other two were both born around Pomea, though I won’t mention their names. There must be something in the water that breeds such courage, or perhaps something that stunts the development of self-preservation. I am intensely curious about it.”

Everyone studiously avoided looking at Costis. The other person, Kamet thought, was probably Teleus—he had heard an apocryphal story about a confrontation between the two in the dungeons, and while he didn’t believe for a moment that the dog-loyal captain had put the king in a headlock, he trusted there was a kernel of truth in it.

The king proceeded to ask detailed questions about the farm, their family, and their journey, then about their plans in the city and whether they were enjoying it so far. Achaeus could hardly bring himself to speak but nodded vigorously whenever the king ventured to offer an opinion. Thalia was shy at first, but as the minutes passed she began to answer even more quickly and enthusiastically than her father, to whom the conversation was principally addressed.

Costis continued to scan the crowd, and Kamet felt himself relax as the minutes went by. The Ormentiedes family was much less intimidating when he was not the sole object of their attention. His appetite began to return, and when Eugenides tried to steal another piece of food off the plate, he knocked his hand away.

After a few minutes had passed, the king stood and said that he ought to be going back to the palace before Teleus—or Costis—had a stroke. He thanked the Ormentiedes for indulging him, and ever-so-casually placed a silver coin on the table, enough to pay for the meal and a week of rooms at the inn.

“Your Majesty, please,” Costis’s father protested. He picked up the coin and held it out, but Eugenides stepped back.

“My face is on that,” he admonished, “and if you keep waving it around, someone is going to notice. Good night, Kamet, Costis. Go easy on the wine—you’re on duty tomorrow and my life does depend on it.”

Costis glared at his back and finished his cup anyway.

“So,” Thalia exhaled.

“So, so, so,” Costis agreed.

“He is very attentive,” their father observed.

“And very unlike how you described.”

“I told you that the king is hard to describe,” Costis said with a defensive shrug.

“I once saw him bite the cook,” Kamet offered, reaching out to dip a new slice of bread into a little dish of olive oil. “No, excuse me, I _twice_ saw him bite the cook. He wasn’t king yet, though.”

“And Onarkus deserved it,” Costis added.

There was a bewildered pause, and then Costis’s father laughed, shaking his head in amazement. Kamet smiled.

Conversation came much easier, after that. Kamet was less nervous, and it helped that the three travelers were now eager for stories about the palace and its inhabitants, and Kamet felt that he had plenty to contribute without being subject to interrogation. The crowd in the dining room was starting to thin when Thalia tried to smother a yawn and her father suggested that they should retire to their beds.

“Oh, before we leave—” Kamet added diffidently. He turned to Thalia. “I have a friend in the kitchens, Tarra, who is from Suninex. It is customary in both our homelands to host a henna night the day before the wedding, and Tarra insisted I must have one. You are welcome to join me, if you would like.”

Thalia smiled warmly.

“Of course I’d be happy to. What did you call it?”

“It’s called a henna night. Henna is a plant that can be used as a dye, and people paint their hands with it for good luck before weddings. In Setra, henna nights usually involve the entire wedding party, but in Suninex the bride and groom celebrate separately.”

“Meaning I am not invited,” Costis said mournfully, and they all laughed.

Kamet arranged to fetch Thalia from the inn the next day, and then he and Costis departed. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but they pulled their cloaks tight around them as they made their way up the cobblestone streets. Costis breathed a content sigh and put his arm around Kamet’s waist as they walked.

“That went well.”

“Yes, it did.”

“And you were nervous,” he teased.

“I was not nervous,” Kamet protested, sticking his nose in the air. “I was simply…” He paused, searching for the word.

“I will accept a word in any of the five languages you speak,” Costis prompted innocently. “Even old Ensur.”

“Fine,” Kamet admitted. He shoved Costis, but the Attolian was built like a bull and didn’t even waver in his steps. “I _was_ nervous. But now I am not.”

“Good,” Costis said, and he pulled Kamet even closer so he could kiss the top of his head.

***

Kamet met Thalia at the inn the following evening and again he struggled to find a suitable topic of conversation. This time, instead of falling silent, he babbled for most of the way, describing the palace and offering bits of history he had learned from Relius. Thalia nodded politely, but as they approached the building her eyes widened and she drew closer to him. They entered through a side door and Kamet lead her through the maze of corridors.

“It’s enormous,” she said during a pause in his monologue. “And so…” She gestured at a mosaic on the floor of the main entry hall as they passed through. “You must think I’m a country bumpkin,” she said with a self-conscious laugh.

“The Mede palace is even bigger, and I was much smaller when I first saw it,” Kamet said sympathetically. “I walked around with my face in the air, gawping at everything, and my master’s old secretary tripped me with his walking stick.”

Thalia laughed and wrapped her arm through his so they wouldn’t be parted as they reached a busier corridor. They were stopped three times on the way to his rooms, by one of Baron Hippias’s secretaries, by a court scribe, and by a lieutenant in the queen’s squad who had just finished his shift. All three greeted Kamet, waited for an introduction to Thalia, and offered her profuse congratulations on her family’s happiness.

“Costis really is popular here, isn’t he?” she asked. “He’s very modest in his letters… or is it only you they like?” she teased.

“I am not as modest as Costis,” Kamet said loftily, sticking his chin up. “But yes, he is quite popular, especially among the Guard. Aristogiton thinks he had a good chance at becoming captain even before he caught the king’s eye.”

“Hm...”

They reached his rooms soon after that, and had hardly been seated five minutes before there was a knock on the door. Kamet went to answer it and was swept aside by a crowd of women—Tarra, Brinna, Chrysanthe, every woman from the kitchen he had ever spoken to—many of whom were carrying plates of food, jugs of wine, and instruments.

“What is all this!” he exclaimed. “You do know the wedding isn’t until tomorrow?”

Brinna boomed with laughter and swept him into a tight hug, and many of the others laughed, said hello, or kissed his cheek as they passed and began to set down their burdens and introduce themselves to Thalia.

“And did none of the men want to come?” he asked Tarra as he scanned the crowd.

“I can’t host a henna night with men involved!” Tarra protested. “That’s not how it’s done.”

“It is in Setra.”

“Ah, but you’re an Attolian now.”

“And also a man.”

“We’ll make _one_ exception.”

There were at least forty people squeezed into two rooms not meant to hold such a large number, but they made do. Kamet and Thalia, as the guests of honor, were seated in sturdy chairs with armrests so that they would be still while Tarra painted their hands. Brinna claimed the cushioned bench and Euphone, who had brought a small harp, the third chair. The rest sat on the bed or on large cushions on the floor—they had come prepared.

Tarra set about her preparations in a brisk, businesslike way, with even more sagacity than she brought to her sauces in the kitchens. She had brought a footstool and a small table in addition to her art supplies and was wearing her best blue dress underneath an apron.

Before she began, she dabbed a drop of rose water on Kamet’s forehead and gave him a slim silver coin, instructing him to clasp it between his palms and think about his beloved—that was exactly how she put it, _your beloved_ , and Chrysanthe said “look, he’s blushing” and they all laughed at him. Then she produced a bowl of the henna paste, grinding it a little with a pestle to make sure it was the right consistency, and began to draw on his hands with a small brush.

First she coated his fingertips in the dark paste to his fingertips. When that was finished she drew diagonal lines down his fingers, creating a fine mesh that ended with a solid chevron and a series of dots. She wrote _Costis_ on his right palm and _Ormentiedes_ on his left, both transliterated into the flowing calligraphic script used by the Medes and their neighbors. On the backs of his hands, she drew intricate designs of the moon and sun. Finally, another chevron on his wrists, scalloped at the edges and accented with more dots, marked the boundary of the henna.

It was incredibly elaborate, and it took a long time. Kamet had to sit very still while Tarra worked, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away as the swirls of ink took over his skin. At first the other women watched, too, but as time went on they tried to entertain Kamet. They recited poetry and sang, accompanied by Euphone’s harp, and offered him snacks and sweets. When Tarra was finished, they all clustered around to get a better view and Kamet held up his hands so they could admire the artwork and shower Tarra with praise.

“You’ll have to keep it on overnight,” she told him as she carefully wrapped his fingers and hands in linen bandages. “But rub the paste off as soon as you wake, so it will have time to darken before the wedding.”

“I look like a particularly unlucky soldier,” Kamet observed dryly, wiggling his fingers. They felt stiff and clumsy in the bandages.

“But tomorrow you will look beautiful.” Tarra turned to Thalia and scooched her stool over. “It’s your turn, Thalia. You’re married already, yes?”

“I should hope so,” Brinna muttered. Brinna muttered as loud as some women shouted, and a flush spread over Thalia’s face. Kamet looked at her curiously, and she looked down and smoothed the front of her dress.

“I don’t know how you noticed,” she said ruefully. “I haven’t told anyone yet except my husband.”

“What—are you pregnant?” Kamet asked.

He immediately regretted the bluntness of the question, but Thalia didn’t seem to mind. She just nodded with a sheepish smile, and there was a lot of clapping and cheering and women surging forward to touch her shoulder or squeeze her arm in congratulations.

“We were going to wait until after the wedding,” she said once the babble had died down. “So we wouldn’t steal the show.”

“Oh, nonsense.” Kamet reached over to squeeze her hand, but with his bandaged fingers only managed to give it a clumsy pat. “Costis will be thrilled.”

“A wedding and a baby in one year!” one of the kitchen girls sighed. “We should all be so lucky.”

Her friend shoved her, and she was hushed by half a dozen others.

“I’ll put the evil eye on the back of your hands, for protection,” Tarra promised. “And pomegranates on the palms, for luck.”

“Thank you.”

Tarra bent over Thalia’s hands and the conversation fractured again, until a baker named Apate said “Come on, Kamet, it’s your turn.”

“Yes, tell us a story, Kamet,” someone else begged, and Thalia’s head jerked up.

“Oh, yes!” she said, leaning closer. Tarra scolded her and she leaned back in the chair. “Costis told me you translate poetry.”

“He did?” he repeated stupidly. It was not surprising that Costis had shared such information, but even so he was embarrassed.

“Yes, he said you’re a wonderful storyteller.”

“Very well,” Kamet said as the crowd clamored for entertainment. He lifted a hand to quiet them and thought for a moment. His mouth curled in a smile and he touched his bottom lip with three fingers. “This is the story of the great heroes Immakuk and Ennikar, and how they stole a god’s chariot to save the city of Ianna-Ir…”

***

The henna night lasted long after Tarra finished Thalia’s hands. No one wanted to leave when there was still several plates of food, when Euphone had not yet exhausted her repertoire of songs, and when there was a little bit of henna paste left. Kamet couldn’t match Tarra’s skill, but he knew Medean calligraphy and wrote _Gods-blessed_ on the backs of her hands and _a joyful life_ on her palms. The other women played a game to determine who got the rest, and Tarra drew a few more simple patterns on their hands—a bird, a flower, a pleasing geometric shape.

Soon after, Brinna declared that they needed to leave and let Kamet rest. There was much forlorn sighing, but slowly the room began to empty until only Kamet, Thalia, Tarra, and Brinna were left. Kamet helped Tarra pack up her supplies and saw her to the door.

“Thank you for all of this,” he said in a soft voice.

“Thank you for putting up with it,” she replied, tired but still smiling.

“Not at all. It was a great kindness, and I should have realized that from the beginning.”

Tarra kissed him on the cheek and slipped out the door. Kamet returned to the bedchamber to find Brinna reassuring Thalia that she herself had given birth to three healthy daughters, who in turn had given birth to five boys and two girls, and that—gods be good—the whole process was not nearly as frightening as everyone said. Thalia nodded and smiled, but Kamet noticed that she was clasping the back of her hand tightly, drawing reassurance from the stain of the evil eye beneath the bandages.

“And you,” Brinna declared when she saw Kamet.

“Me?”

Brinna chuckled and pinched his cheek. It was less painful than her ear-twisting, but only just.

“Sleep well,” she said, and then she, too, left.

Wordlessly, Kamet offered his arm to Thalia. At first she didn’t notice, but she returned to herself with a start and accepted it. They left his rooms and began to walk through the palace, heading back to the side door.

It was much quieter than earlier in the day, and Thalia seemed lost in thought. Kamet did not disturb her, and he wasn’t at all surprised when she finally asked “Do you miss your mother?” in a hesitant voice.

He had been expecting a question along those lines, but still he considered his answer carefully.

“No.” Thalia looked down at her feet and a faint furrow appeared on her forehead. “It did me no good to miss her,” he tried to explain in a gentle voice. “Slaves who cry for their mothers earn very little pity—either from their masters or from their fellow slaves. I knew, almost from the minute we were parted, that I would never find her again. Even then, the Mede Empire was so large, and I was taken so far from my home… I turned my mind to other things.

“I knew that she had high aspirations for me, because she had wanted me to be a priest in Setra. I was the only one in my family who could read or write. I told myself it was a good thing that I had been taken into slavery. I was apprenticed to the secretary of an important man. I was going to be a gift for the next emperor. I was going to be rich and powerful beyond my mother’s wildest imagination. If she knew, how could she be sad for me? And if she didn’t miss me, how could I miss her?”

They had reached the exit, and Thalia shivered as they stepped out into the cool night air.

“But you are free now,” she pointed out.

“Yes.”

“And still you do not miss her?”

“No,” Kamet said slowly, less sure of his answer. “There is a difference, you know, between being a free man and being a _freed_ man. I do not forget the lessons I learned as a slave, but must work to learn new ones. And I have not learned how to miss my mother. I—I think it would hurt too much. The best I can do is try to honor her.”

“What about your brothers? Your sister?”

“They have forgotten me by now.”

“Surely not!” Thalia exclaimed, holding his arm tighter. They had paused in the doorway, standing in the light of the iron braziers, and Kamet smiled sadly.

“My brothers were both very young. And I know they have forgotten me, because I have forgotten their names.”

Thalia was stricken at that, but almost instantly he saw that she understood. His mother had lost another infant, after Kamet, and so she was cautious with the next two. She did not refer to them by name as often as she referred to Kamet and his sister—instead they were _the babies_ or _your brothers_. Thalia had a large extended family, and she knew what that was like.

“And your sister?”

His sister had been older by a year or two. Kamet remembered her a little better. He remembered bathing with her in the river and shrieking when she splashed him with the cold water. He remembered watching their mother braid her shining black hair on the stoop of their house.

“Zeire,” he said after a moment. “That was her name.” There was a pause, and in a quiet voice he asked “Do you miss _your_ mother?”

“I never knew her. But I know my father loved her, and I have always missed her for his sake. And now…” Thalia wrapped her arms around her torso. “Now I miss her very much.”

Kamet hugged her, and Thalia clung to him tightly in the darkness. After a moment she pulled away with a sniff, clearing her throat.

“I am glad Costis has you,” she said. “And I am glad that you have us.”

“So,” Kamet said with a smile.

“You should go rest, Kamet. Tomorrow is a busy day for you. Go—I remember the way back.”

Kamet protested, but Thalia insisted, and the best he could do was persuade her to walk back with two members of the Guard. Aris and some of Costis’s other friends had whisked him away to a wineshop for the evening, but even so his reputation was such that Kamet found two volunteers easily. He accompanied them to the gate and stood, watching, until they disappeared into the gloom. And then he watched for another minute.

He hugged himself tightly and wished that he could fall asleep tonight in Costis’s arms. One more day, he told himself. One more day.

***

Kamet woke early on his wedding day and had no idea why.

There was very little for him to do, that early. He rubbed the dried henna paste off his hands, revealing a pale orange stain that would darken to mahogany by the time the wedding started. He had already packed most of the belongings that would be moved down to the apartment later in the day, but he fussed over them for a little while. He carefully examined his wedding gift to Costis—a small decorative bowl he had commissioned, with the words _great was their love and greatly did it sustain them_ painted on the inside. Over the course of ten minutes he decided that the artisan had overcharged him for shoddy work, that it was far too cheap a gift, that a bowl had been the worst choice of objects, and then that the entire concept was stupid and hopelessly sentimental.

But there was no time to anything about it, and so after a while Kamet wrapped the bowl and placed it in a cabinet where he couldn’t look at it anymore. He sat at his desk and tried to think about nothing at all.

Later in the morning, there was a soft tapping at the door, and he answered it to find a kitchen boy with a pot of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal, drizzled with honey and studded with bits of dried fruit. Kamet thanked him and silently prayed for Brinna to have a long and happy life.

After eating, he dressed in his finest clothes; the king and queen had provided him with a wardrobe the first time he was in Attolia. Most of the clothes were modest by the standard of the Attolian court, but there were a few more elegant pieces, including a high-collared cream tunic embroidered with gold lilies. It was perfect—the loose sleeves even ended halfway down his forearm, perfect for showing off the art on his hands. The tunic was long enough to be worn on its own, but he paired it with dark blue trousers in the Mede style. Many free men in Attolia wore tunics, but in Medea they were reserved for slaves, and he thought this was a fitting day to flaunt his status.

The first person to come to his room, appropriately enough, was Relius. He had not brought lunch, this time, but Kamet burst into laughter when he realized that the former spymaster was carrying a small glass bottle of remchik, instantly recognizable by the embossed sreet plant on the front.

“Where on earth did you get that?” he asked as he ushered Relius into the antechamber.

“It was a gift from my king,” Relius said, settling into a chair. He placed two small glasses on the small table between them and uncorked the bottle. “As to where he acquired it, I couldn’t begin to speculate.”

“From Melheret’s rooms.”

“I couldn’t speculate,” Relius repeated virtuously. “Now, it is my understanding that remchik is a customary drink on special occasions across the Middle Sea, such as the day of a young man’s wedding.”

“Remchik is a customary drink whenever one would like to get drunk,” Kamet said in a dry voice.

“So.” Relius poured two glasses and handed one to Kamet. “To your health,” he toasted. “To a happy wedding, and a very happy marriage thereafter.”

Kamet toasted with a smile, although his stomach was starting to feel queasy and he wasn’t sure that the remchik would help. He threw it back, the way he had seen other men do—and coughed, just as he had seen other men do. Nahuseresh had always sneered at men who couldn’t swallow remchik like water. In his more arrogant moments, Kamet had done the same. Now, having tasted the strong liquor, he offered them all a silent apology.

“It’s vile,” he said as he set the glass down.

“It’s growing on me,” Relius said with a shrug. He poured himself another portion and sipped it for a moment as he sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to speak much this past week. I have been busy—you will understand soon.”

“What an intriguing statement,” Kamet laughed. “I won’t give you the satisfaction of asking.”

Relius gave a small smile.

“I would have liked to have seen your swearing,” he commented. “It took us all by surprise, especially those of us who had personally heard you declare that you owed Attolia no loyalty.”

“I _owed_ nothing,” Kamet agreed. “My loyalty was a gift, freely given.”

“Mm.” Relius finished his drink and spoke casually, addressing the leg of Kamet’s chair and slowly spinning his glass back and forth in his good hand. “I heard you had a private audience with the king the day before.”

There was a pause.

“Nosy old man.”

Relius shrugged, not denying it, and his eyes fixed on Kamet’s.

“Have you explained it to Costis?”

“No.”

Relius frowned. He set his glass down on the table and sat back in his chair, wrapping his cloak around himself.

“Starting a marriage with secrets…” he sighed.

“It is something of a tradition with us,” Kamet said humorlessly. But he sighed, too, and cradled his head in his hand. “I will tell him,” he said quietly. “I simply don’t want Costis to spend our wedding day doubting my happiness. Afterwards, when the stakes are not so high, I promise I will tell him. Speaking of which, Relius,” he said with his most charming smile. “It is my wedding day.”

“Meaning, I suppose, that it is not a day to be lectured by nosy old men.”

“So, so, so.”

“On the contrary, it is an Attolian tradition. Although usually, I believe, the tradition is to be lectured by one’s father-in-law and any suitably intimidating brothers, so I will stand down.” He sat forward, eyeing Kamet’s hand. “Come, show me your hands. I have heard of henna, but not in any detail. What are these patterns?”

They talked of inconsequential things, and Kamet’s nerves faded into the background as the day crept by, until there was another knock on the door. It was Zerchus, who had been deputized to come to Kamet’s room and inform him that his half of the wedding party was waiting in the courtyard, ready to depart. They both stood, and Kamet carefully packed Costis’s present in his trunk. Two footmen would be coming by soon to bring his things down to the marital apartments.

Relius told Zerchus to return downstairs and said that they would follow shortly.

“He will be late,” Zerchus protested.

“Weddings always start late,” Relius said with all the authority he had once wielded as the Queen of Attolia’s Master of the Archives, and Zerchus knew he was dismissed.

Kamet looked at Relius questioningly, and the older man put his hands on Kamet’s shoulders. His steel-grey eyes were piercing, but he knew not to look away.

“I was the queen’s ally from the very beginning,” he said in a quiet voice. “Her only ally, at first, and then it was only myself and Teleus. I taught her loneliness and suspicion, because that was all that I knew. You are no stranger to loneliness and suspicion, either, Kamet—but I pray that those days are behind you, as they will soon be behind all of us. I take great comfort in the fact that your time in Attolia begins with…” He smiled. “Not only spite. But friendship, and love, and loyalty freely given.” He squeezed Kamet’s shoulders. “Remember this.”

There was a knot in Kamet’s throat. He nodded and looked down at the floor, and Relius kissed his brow.

“I am not—” He cleared his throat. “I am not the queen’s master of spies.”

“No,” Relius agreed. “No, you are not.”

“I couldn’t—I—”

Kamet stumbled over his words, trying to articulate his terror. There had been whispers since they returned to the palace. Costis, handpicked for duty by Teleus, loved by the men, favored by the king. He was a natural for Captain of the Guard—anyone could see that. Kamet was not as natural a successor for the Secretary of the Archives, but he too had been singled out by the king and queen, had been selected as the queen’s personal advisor, had struck up a friendship with Relius, who—retired or no—was the one whose opinion mattered the most.

Costis may have one day expected such an honor, but Kamet had not. He didn’t know if he _wanted_ to be the Attolian spymaster. He didn’t know if he would be successful, he didn’t know… if he had earned it or not.

“If I were still in Ianna-Ir…” He said finally. “I would be at the emperor’s side at this very moment. I would be one of the most powerful men in the Empire, one of Attolia’s greatest enemies… I wouldn’t question it.”

“The gods have not deemed it so.”

“My circumstances are different, I know. But am _I_ really so different? Everyone seems to think that I am… someone I do not yet recognize.”

Relius squeezed his shoulders once more and let his hands drop.

“Maybe yes, maybe no. It is hard to judge these things, but you don’t need to know the answer just yet. The river knows its time.”

Kamet nodded, and he and Relius turned to leave. He glanced over his shoulder one last time at the rooms he had once shared with Nahuseresh, and closed the door firmly behind him.

***

In Attolia, weddings began at the participants’ separate homes—the bride’s family and friends at her father’s house, the groom’s family and friends at his. On this occasion, they had decided that Kamet’s side of the wedding party would gather in the palace courtyard, and Costis’s at the inn where his family was staying. When he arrived, there was a great cheer.

He waved sheepishly, and one of the kitchen girls leapt forward with a crown of white flowers for his hair. Brinna scolded him for being late, and somehow a loose column formed, with Kamet at the head, and he was swept out into the streets of the capital city. Some people had brought flutes or tambourines, and others sang along as they struck a jaunty tune. It was unmistakably a wedding party, and some bystanders clapped or called out good wishes as they passed.

They were marching to the Temple of Erate, goddess of love and marriage, the queen of the Attolian pantheon. She was one of the new gods, as they were called on the Little Peninsula, the ones left over from some long-ago invasion. In Eddis, Costis had explained, they worshipped the old golds. Ever since Attolia acquired an Eddisian king, the old gods had enjoyed a resurgence in popularity, but Erate could be a vengeful goddess and none dared slight her on their wedding day.

They were almost at the steps of the temple when the other procession came into view, and Kamet’s heart fluttered. Costis was standing at the front, so tall and broad he was impossible to miss. He was wearing a more-formal version of the Guard’s uniform—a belted tunic of sky blue silk, printed with white lilies and bordered in gold. A crown of white flowers was perched on his head, too, and there were loose petals caught in his curls. He looked… very dashing. Kamet, unexpectedly, felt shy.

There was some sort of formal greeting—Kamet knew, he had practiced it—but Costis kept walking, eyes wide, expression so obviously admiring that Kamet felt his face flush right down to his collarbone. Costis took his hands in his own and bent down to kiss Kamet’s henna-stained knuckles.

“Ready?”

“Of course,” Kamet said, pleased to note that he did not sound as dizzy as he felt. “You did say ‘after noon,’ didn’t you? Not ‘after dark’?”

Costis laughed.

“So.”

The most important part of the ceremony was the sacrifice of two doves at Erate’s alter. The actual sacrifice was mostly private; only Relius and Costis’s father, who paid for the birds in order to indicate their approval, accompanied them into the temple. They approached the altar and gave the doves to an attending priest. He flashed them an odd look but, to Kamet’s immense relief, said nothing but a perfunctory acknowledgement of their generosity before turning to his duty. The poor birds were swiftly sacrificed and sent away with a young acolyte, to fill the priests’ soup pot.

There was also a large bowl filled with coins, each inscribed with an epithet of the goddess and a word of praise. Costis picked it up and rolled it, listening to the music of the coins jingling, and then handed it to Kamet, who did the same.

And that was that. Relius grasped Costis’s forearm, and Costis’s father swept Kamet into an enormous bear hug, and they left the temple to cheers and the jangle of tambourines. Kamet reached out blindly for Costis’s hand and found the other man already reaching for him.

“That was not so bad,” he murmured.

“You were expecting something bad?”

“Kiss him already!” someone shouted from the crowd—Kamet suspected Aris—and the cry was quickly repeated by several others.

“Something like that,” Kamet said, but he smiled and tilted his head up when Costis bent down to kiss him sweetly on the mouth.

The wedding was not over yet. Next, the procession—walking together, this time, friends and family intermingled—was expected to go on a tour of the patrons, so that the couple could pay tribute to the other gods and goddesses to whom they owed favors. For most couples, this meant two more gods, _maybe_ three, if one was the child of a priest. For them, it meant seven.

(It could have been worse—the king and queen had visited every temple in the city on their wedding day.)

First they went to the altar of Miras, Costis’s patron and a much-beloved god in this city full of guards and soldiers. They each lit a candle, and Aris brought forth a jug of wine so they could pour out a libation. Having paid their dues to the new gods, they then went to visit the old. The temple of Hephestia, at the acropolis, was the center of religious life for the Eddisians in Attolia, as well as any Attolians hoping to curry favor with the king.

They purchased a goat outside the temple and brought it inside to a priestess almost as tall as Costis. She slit its throat expertly.

“Where shall we send the meat?” she asked as she butchered the animal, plopping organs onto the altar. Kamet stepped back to protect his white shirt and congratulated himself on not wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“The kitchens of the King’s Guard,” Costis told her. The Guard’s kitchen was closer to Teleus’s rooms. Staff from the palace kitchens had begun the work, and Brinna had deputized a few people to complete the dishes that could not be cooked in advance. The priestess nodded and bid them farewell.

The altar of Eugenides was outside the temple, much smaller but crowded with offerings. As of the previous week, they were both devotees to the Eddisian god of thieves, and this was the first time Kamet was leaving an offering. Most gods had some sort of preference, and the king had told Costis that (unsurprisingly) Eugenides’s only fondness was for stolen things. They had come prepared; they were each wearing a single gold hoop in their right ear. Kamet stole Costis’s, and Costis stole his, and they left the pair together on the altar.

The final part of the ceremony was more complex. Kamet had decided that, although neither Mede nor Setran weddings had an equivalent ceremony to the tour of the patrons, he disliked the thought of neglecting his own gods on such a day. They picked their way across the acropolis to the cliffs overlooking the sea, followed by some of their more intrepid guests, and Kamet found a large, flat stone tall enough to reach his knees.

He and Costis knelt in front of it, facing the Middle Sea, and Tarra stepped forward with a small bag of supplies for Kamet. He thanked her, closed his eyes, and uttered a short incantation to consecrate the spot to Anet, queen of his own gods. When he finished, he clapped his hands once. Inside the bag he found a small tin of esfand seeds, a packet of matches, a small nut cake, and a fresh-plucked olive branch. He placed them all on the altar, struck the match, and burned the esfand seeds. They crackled and popped and released a spiced, earthy smoke that was buffeted around them by the seaside breeze.

Next he lit a candle for Sesmegah, goddess of mercy, patron of slaves and freedmen. His movements had been brisk and efficient, but now Kamet slowed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the cold, salty air, and tried to remember Setra.

He remembered the temple best, the whiskered old priests teaching him the instructional prayers and the shapes of the letters, switching his hands until he learned how to hold the reed correctly. He remembered playing with his sister in the dust around the communal oven, the smell of bread wafting into the air. He remembered kneeling in front of his youngest brother, with Zeire and the other boy with him, and making funny faces so they could hear the baby squeal with laughter. He remembered his name spoken in his mother’s voice.

Costis put an arm around his shoulders, and Kamet exhaled. _May my joy be theirs, goddess_ , he prayed. _If they live, make them glad and safe, and free. If they have passed already to the realm of the dead, may they find comfort and peace there._ He thought of Costis’s mother, suddenly, and prayed the same for her, and for protection for Thalia during her pregnancy, and for Laela a life of peace, and for the entire Ormentiedes family to be safe from Mede swords or illness or bad harvest, and for Costis to be safe from any conceivable danger at all.

It was more than Sesmegah could do, but his wedding day was the best time to ask for the impossible, and so Kamet asked.

When he had finally finished, he cleared his throat and opened his eyes to find that the sun was sinking lower in the sky. They needed to be back soon for the feast. He turned to Costis and asked, “Will you get the wine?”

“Of course.”

Costis kissed him on the cheek and helped Kamet to his feet. He went back to the processional to get the jug from Aris, and Kamet took a moment to compose himself. When Costis returned, he was able to produce a genuine smile, and together they approached the edge of the cliff.

Immakuk and Ennikar were the only ones left. Technically they were not gods and had no rites of worship, but both Kamet and Costis had agreed that this should not stop them. Costis took a sip from the amphora and handed it to Kamet, who did the same. He liked it better than the remchik. Then, together, they looked down into the sea and poured the rest of the amphora into the waves below.

“Learned about welcome and unwelcome,” Kamet murmured.

“Learned I like to wander,” Costis said with a smile.

“Learned about blessings accepted and blessings deserved.”

Costis pried Kamet’s fingers off the handle of the amphora and set it down on the ground beside them. He pulled Kamet into his embrace and kissed him—a proper kiss that left him breathless and thoughtless, unable to feel anything except the warmth of Costis’s skin and a surge of joy. If there was a reaction from the wedding party, Kamet didn’t hear it.

***

There were more than a hundred people crammed into Teleus’s dining room—Kamet was certain. But there was plenty of food, and everyone managed to squeeze themselves onto the benches at the lower tables without complaint. Costis and Kamet sat at the high table with Costis’s family, Relius, Teleus, Tarra, Brinna, and Aristogiton. The table was piled high with food: roasted goat, sour plum stew, pastries stuffed with cheese and vegetables, fish cakes, quail. Much of it was drizzled in honey or cooked with the seven spices of the southern continent, and there were small bowls everywhere filled with candied nuts—all symbols of luck and happiness. And there was wine, of course. Lots and lots of wine.

Kamet had only been to a few weddings in his life, and most of them were large, extravagant affairs at the Mede court, the kind where only a small fraction of the guests had ever spoken to the couple. He decided that he much preferred Attolian weddings. Throughout the meal, guests kept coming up to the main table to entertain him and Costis with jokes, humorous anecdotes, or little tricks like juggling figs or making a coin disappear and finding it in Costis’s soup.

The guards seemed particularly eager to tell Kamet stories about Costis from before they had met, and Thalia and Achaeus were only too happy to contribute. Soon Kamet was breathless with laughter, and Costis’s face was a permanent shade of red. At one point Chrysanthe (who, Kamet had learned, had an Eddisian mother) and her husband performed a raucous Eddisian dance around the room that knocked three people onto the floor, and for some reason Costis’s father and Teleus began a friendly arm-wrestling match. The Captain of the Guard won, but by a very slim margin after a very long time, to equal parts cheering and jeering by his subordinates.

When most people had finished eating, there was a coordinated flurry of activity. The long tables were pushed down to make a space in front of the head table, and some of the kitchen servants went into a sideroom and began to bring in the gifts, piling them on the table nearest to the dor.

“Those are not all for us?” Kamet hissed to Costis, who grinned.

“Most couples haven’t established households before their wedding day,” he pointed out. “Look on the bright side—you can finally throw out those dented lamps you’ve been complaining about for months.”

Costis had bought them from a neighbor in Roa for cheap. They were ugly, rusted, and took up too much space, but Kamet had never gotten around to finding new ones. He spied at least one shining brass lamp in the pile and decided not to protest as the mountain grew larger.

Soon they were alone at the high table, as guests flocked to the pile and took out their own gifts to present to Kamet and Costis personally. There was a ritual to this, too, and Costis’s father went first.

“On behalf of myself and my late wife, I bring a gift to Costis Ormentiedes and Kamet Kingnamer.” He was carrying a small package wrapped in a cloth, and he held it up and pulled off the cloth to reveal a silver goblet. Kamet heard Costis inhale a sharp breath beside him. “A silver wine cup, given to me by my father on my own wedding day. I pray that it will always be full, and that you will always have many friends and guests who will share it with you, in peace and prosperity.”

He approached the table and set the goblet before them. It was only slightly larger than a standard wine cup, but it was a fine work of art, embossed with bunches of grapes, olive branches, and stalks of corn and wheat. A cup like this might be worth an entire year’s worth of profits on a small farm in the Gede Valley, if not more.

“Thank you, Baba,” Costis said in a hoarse, quiet voice, and Kamet murmured his own thanks as well.

Costis’s father stepped closer, took his son’s head in his hands, and kissed him on the top of his head—and then, unexpectedly, did the same to Kamet. The room was quiet except for a few happy sighs, and Relius allowed for a moment’s pause before he stepped forward with his own gift.

“I bring a gift to Kamet Kingnamer and Costis Ormentiedes,” he said. He set a rectangular box on the table in front of them. “It is the first volume of a recent history of Attolia. I hope it will prove useful to you.”

He stepped back with a courteous bow, and Kamet opened the box eagerly and lifted out a hefty scroll. Costis helped him clear away some of the plates and unroll it using the wooden handles to reveal the title page and the description of its contents.

 **_Kings and Queens of Attolia_ **  
_Written by Relius Outakos_  
_In the third year of the reign of Attolis Eugenides_ _  
and the fourteenth year of the reign of Attolia Irene_

According to the following page, Relius had begun with Attolis Perikles’s expulsion of the Invaders and the re-establishment of an independent Attolia. This, the first volume, ended with the reign of the current queen’s grandfather. Relius had indeed been busy. Kamet thanked him profusely and was promised that he would have early access to Relius’s notes for the subsequent volume, which would cover the ascension of the queen.

Next came Thalia and Achaeus. They uttered the ritual phrases and produced two traveling cloaks, in recognition of the gift Costis had given them after their own wedding. The cloaks were a grey-blue color, like the sky at early twilight, and Thalia had embroidered a pattern of crashing waves in white along the edges. Instead of setting them aside, Kamet insisted on returning the cloaks to the side table so her handiwork could be admired, and Thalia’s cheeks were stained pink for the next ten minutes as the other guests obliged.

There was no designated order as to who came next, but Brinna claimed the right of precedence. She strode to the front of the room, accompanied by several other kitchen servants carrying an abundance of gifts.

“On behalf of those who work in the palace kitchens, I bring gifts to Kamet Kingnamer and Costis Ormentiedes. An iron cookpot, plates, bowls, and cutlery, for the kitchen in your home, as small as it may be—and with the understanding that this does not free you from your obligation to visit my kitchens often.” Kamet laughed at that, and Brinna beamed. “Also a sack of grain, that your union may be fulfilling, a jar of olives, that it may be peaceful, and a jar of honey, that it may be sweet.”

Kamet lost track of what happened next. Tarra and some of the other cooks gave them a set of knives and some saucepans, and Zerchus and his wife got them a serving tray. Many members of the Guard, clearly familiar with the housing they would receive, gave them furniture and linens—cushions, a comfortable bench, a small table, curtains, a rug. Aris and his squad gave them a new mattress and a bedspread, with an innocent smile but just enough innuendo in his words to make them blush.

Some of the gifts were clearly meant for one of them more than the other—a fine case for Kamet’s writing supplies, a set of greaves and a knife embossed with Miras’s seal from Teleus—but that was to be expected. It all evened out, somehow, and Kamet rather enjoyed witnessing Costis’s bewildered gratitude at being singled out.

Finally, the gifts had all been distributed. Some were still piled on the high table, but it had become crowded as guests slowly returned to their seats, and others remained clustered on one end of the lower tables. Costis and Kamet would retrieve them the next day—hopefully with help—to bring them back to their rooms.

Kamet exhaled and sat back in his chair, and Costis reached out to grasp his hand.

“All right?” he asked in a low voice. Kamet turned his head and flashed a tired smile.

“A little overwhelmed,” he admitted. “What’s next?”

“Dessert, I think.”

“That’s all?” he said with a frown.

“What else?”

“I don’t know. I feel as though we should—say something.”

Costis waved a hand to indicate his approval. Kamet spotted one of the guards heading towards the door to inform the servants that they were ready for the next course, and he stood up hastily before he could leave.

“Pardon me, friends,” he said as the chatter died down. “I won’t claim your attention long, not when there is wine yet to be drunk, but…”

He gazed out at the crowd and was momentarily overcome by the fact that he was standing a room full of people he loved and who loved him. Even those he had only known a few weeks, even those he hardly knew at all, except that they were friends of Costis—they had all gathered here for no other reason than to celebrate his and Costis’s happiness, and that humbled him. He thought for a moment of those who were elsewhere—the king and queen, Laela, his mother, Zeire, his brothers, Costis’s mother, the rest of his family, his companions killed in battle or maimed and dismissed from service, the friends they had made in Roa—and felt a lump in his throat.

Kamet rested a hand on Costis’s shoulder to steady himself and took a deep breath.

“When I left Attolia for the first time, four years ago, the only thing I took with me was a scroll—which had been sent to me by a friend many of you know,” he added dryly, and there was scattered laughter. “It was the first chapter of an epic by the great writer Enoclitus, and it included one of his most famous passages: _If a man who claims to see the future is a fool, how much more so, the man who believes he can control it? We think we steer the ship of fate, but all of us are guided by unseen stars._ ”

He paused to let the words have their due.

“It is a universal and timeless thought, but in the years since, Costis and I have found it particularly wise.” He looked down at Costis, who chuckled and dropped his gaze, and squeezed his shoulder tighter. “We are very grateful for whatever stars have guided all of you here tonight. Thank you.”

Kamet dropped into his seat and there was a round of applause, and Costis kissed him on the cheek. The festivities were not over yet—servants from the kitchen arrived with more nuts and fruit, and honey cake and rosewater pudding, and the instruments came out again, and some people began to dance. But Kamet did not join them. He leaned against Costis’s side and watched the dancers idly as Costis spoke to his friends in a quiet voice.

“You’re tired,” he said when Kamet yawned.

“A little,” he admitted.

“Shall we leave?”

“Wouldn’t it be rude?”

“On the contrary,” Costis grinned. “The guests of honor are typically the first to leave a wedding.”

“Well,” Kamet said seriously. “I must honor the customs of my new homeland, mustn’t I?”

“Yes, I think that would be best.”

They could not leave immediately; first they needed to say goodbye to each individual guest. Kamet suspected they said goodbye to some of them twice. It was almost midnight when they finally returned to their new apartment.

Kamet had never seen it, and so Costis showed him around. The entrance was on the ground floor, in a smaller building next to the one that housed the Guard’s mess and the barracks. It had a dining room big enough to fit about twelve people, and a kitchen with two fireplaces so they could cook without crashing into the other residents. Costis said only two of the other apartments in this section of the building were occupied, one by a lieutenant named Lydos and his wife Melissa, whom they had just left at the wedding, and the other by a squad leader and his wife. The man had been promoted only recently and Costis did not know him well, but Aris liked him.

Their private rooms were up a narrow flight of stairs, in the southwest corner of the building. The rooms were almost empty, except for the furniture provided by the quartermaster—a bed with a thin mattress, a desk, two stools—and their trunk, which had been delivered to the foot of the bed. But they were clean, with whitewashed walls, and as big as their bedroom and anteroom in Roa. There were two windows in the bedroom and one in the anteroom, too, which was lucky.

“I know it’s plain,” Costis said apologetically. “But we will bring in everything else tomorrow and make it look nicer. And I can move the desk into the antechamber so you can take advantage of the light in the evenings, and—”

“And nothing,” Kamet interrupted. He turned in a circle and smiled at Costis. “It’s perfect. It’s ours.”

“Yes,” Costis said, smiling at him in return. He glanced around and spotted the two lumpy packages on the desk. “Ah—sit down, I’ve been waiting all day to give you your present.”

Kamet obediently sat on the bed, and winced. The mattress was even more uncomfortable than he had expected; he would have to apologize to Aris for assuming his gift was just a bawdy joke. It was a bawdy joke, to be sure, but it was also thoughtful.

Costis sat on the stool by the desk and picked up his gift. It was wrapped in worn velvet, and he held it very carefully as he gave it to Kamet. Despite that, it was not heavy, and Kamet was able to balance it on his palm as he undid the wrappings. The velvet slipped off the glazed surface of a statuette—a woman formed from deep red clay. He knew at a glance that it was Sesmegah, because unlike the other Medean gods and goddesses, she wore no headdress, only a veil that blended into her robe, painted black by the artist. One hand bunched the fabric of the robe, and the other was held out, palm down, blessing the subjects of the earth.

“Where did you get this?” he marveled.

“That is the right one, isn’t it? The goddess of mercy?”

“Yes, this is Sesmegah. How did you find it? I can’t imagine statues of Medean gods are common in Attolia.”

“Melheret brought a much bigger retinue than Nahuseresh did, and they had to leave quickly when the emperor recalled him. One of them left that behind. The palace steward kept a record of what was left, and after a few months had passed, he sold whatever the palace didn’t need. I tracked down the shop.”

“It’s wonderful, Costis. Thank you.”

Kamet stood and bent to kiss Costis on the cheek, and placed the statuette on the corner of the desk. He picked up the bowl and held it out to Costis, but the moment the Attolian’s hands closed around it, he began to doubt again.

“I know it’s small,” he said apologetically when Costis unwrapped it. “It’s supposed to be ceremonial. In Medea, it’s common to have household altars. I hadn’t realized until recently that there aren’t any in the palace, but I wasn’t sure if perhaps you used to, at home. Or if not, I suppose you could always use it for incense or coins or… very small amounts of soup?”

“We had an altar at home,” Costis said. “A small one for the harvest god, where we left the first fruit of each season. My mother had one, too, for Erate, and every year we lit a candle and decorated it with rose petals.”

He rubbed his fingers around the inside of the bowl, tracing the words, and then he set it down on the desk, at Sesmegah’s feet.

“What a pious pair we are,” Kamet grinned.

“Yes.”

Without warning, Costis darted towards Kamet and kissed him. His hand was on the back of Kamet’s neck, urging him forward, and his mouth was hot and demanding.

Instinctively Kamet lifted a hand to Costis’s cheek, and then all at once desire seized him and he flung his arms around the bigger man’s neck, dragging him down, eager for more contact. Costis seized him by the waist and pulled him onto the bed, rolling so that Kamet ended up on top of Costis, flat on his back.

“Ow,” he grunted, breaking the kiss, and Kamet laughed.

“What are the odds we could go collect our new mattress right now without being mocked by everyone we know?” he asked.

“I am _not_ going back down there.”

“Pity,” Kamet said, tracing the edge of Costis’s tunic with one finger. “We will simply have to make the best of it.”

He looked up and fluttered his lashes, and a red flush crept up Costis’s neck.

“I suppose we shall.”

***

Kamet woke the next morning to the feel of fingers in his hair. Still half-asleep, he lifted his hand and swatted Costis away.

“Off,” he mumbled. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and curled closer to Costis’s broad, warm chest.

“Sorry,” Costis said with a soft laugh. He draped his arm around Kamet’s waist instead. “I’d forgotten how your hair gets in the morning. It’s sticking in a dozen different directions.”

“Who cares?” Kamet yawned.

“I forgot how grumpy you get, too.”

“I am not grumpy.” Kamet opened his eyes and scowled at Costis, who sighed mournfully.

“Has the love gone out of our marriage already, Kamet?”

“It is on its way.”

“And before we even finished opening our wedding presents. What a shame.” At Kamet’s questioning look, he rolled over and reached for something on the windowsill. “I found this when I woke up.”

Kamet accepted that he was not going back to sleep anytime soon and drew back, propping himself up on one elbow. Costis put a small box down on the bedspread between them and held up a piece of paper.

“May your hearth always be well-tended,” he read. “E and I.”

It was too early for this, Kamet thought distantly as his heart skipped a beat.

“E and I?”

“Eugenides and Irene.”

“Oh. Of course.” Heat touched his cheeks and he had a horrible feeling that, although Costis did not comment, the faint tilt to his lips indicated that he knew. He cleared his throat and looked at the box with interest. “What is it?”

Costis opened the box to reveal two silver signet rings set with blue stones. Kamet picked up the smaller one and held it up to the light to examine its face. The stone was lapis lazuli, a deep, vibrant blue with lines of white and flecks of fool’s gold. Carved into it was a simple ship, just a small crescent body with one sail, and above that, two diamond-shaped stars. If he squinted, he could just make out his initials beneath the stern of the ship. He leaned over to look at Costis’s ring; it was the same, except for his own initials and the fact that the ship was pointing left, not right. Kamet looked at the windowsill.

“I don’t like this,” he declared.

“No?” Costis asked absently. He tilted his head to examine Kamet’s ring. “I like it. It’s just like that passage you mentioned—”

“No,” Kamet interrupted. “I mean I don’t like the fact that His Majesty the King of Attolia crept into our private room to leave these here while we were sleeping, naked, a foot away.”

“Oh, yes,” Costis said in what Kamet believed to be a far too casual voice. “We have been trying to keep him from sneaking through the palace at night for six years. If you can think of a way to make it stick, by all means let us know.”

He transferred his Miras ring to his left hand, and placed the new one on the third finger of his right hand. He looked up at Kamet’s face with a smile, and laughed at whatever he saw reflected there. Irritation and resignation, probably.

“You chose to live here,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” Kamet sighed. “I did.”

Costis bent to kiss him on the cheek, and Kamet slipped the seal ring onto his finger. It was a perfect fit.


End file.
